Daring Rescue, Daring Escape
by Honorat
Summary: Another movie novelization—Jack’s first rescue of Elizabeth. COMPLETE.
1. Not the Brightest Plan

Fic: Daring Rescue, Daring Escape Ch. 1: Not the Brightest Plan

By Honorat Selonnet

Rating: K+

Disclaimer: Don't shoot. I'm not stealing them.

Summary: Another movie novelization—Jack's first rescue of Elizabeth. So far no oars over the head. You're all very kind. Much fun Jackness—at least I hope so.

Not the Brightest Plan

Jack had made himself right at home on the quarterdeck of the Interceptor. The earnest but none too bright marines, Murtogg and Mulroy, who had been left to defend the dock against the likes of him had long since succumbed to the pirate's charm and were seated facing him and listening, enthralled, to his narrative of one of his fabulous escapes. Well one of his narratives. This one involved the friendly cannibals on a neighbouring island. He had just reached the best part of the story.

". . . And then they made me their chief," he was informing his audience.

Suddenly a great splash interrupted him. Hey! Jack swiveled his head towards the sound. What was that?

"Elizabeth!" The frantic cry drifted out over the water.

Apparently some silly female named Elizabeth had just plummeted off the walls of Fort Charles. This fact seemed to disturb Murtogg and Mulroy who leapt up and rushed to the rail of the ship. Well, so much for the story. He joined the two horrified marines looking out over the water. No head of a swimmer appeared where the woman had fallen.

Perhaps one of these bumbling but well-armed geniuses would be going in after the lass. That would significantly increase his odds of seizing this sweet little ship. Hopefully, Jack pointed to the disappearing ripples. "Will you be saving her then?" he asked Mulroy.

"I can't swim!" the man exclaimed, looking at the pirate fearfully.

Jack pursed his lips in an artificial smile and turned questioningly to his other companion. Murtogg, his face pale, shook his head in terror. Jack really did not need this today.

"Pride of the King's Navy, you are," he grimaced in disgust, taking off his hat and slapping it into Mulroy's arms. He dragged his baldric over his head and shoved it at the bewildered Murtogg.

"Do not lose these," he ordered.

His coat followed his hat in Mulroy's over-burdened arms. His pistol joined his baldric with Murtogg. Without pause, Jack grasped a halyard, leapt lightly up on the rail and arched out in a perfect dive into the clear turquoise bay.

As he cut through the water, Jack had time to wonder why on earth he was doing this. He should have stayed on the ship. Let someone else rescue the woman. Now he would lose his element of surprise. Whoever had called out over the battlements would surely be arriving on the docks soon. And he would be forced to deliver this foolish female to a crowd of people. Not the brightest plan he'd ever come up with. In fact he could think of few worse ones for his purposes.

Nevertheless, he swam with sure strong strokes. He knew there was no one else near enough to stand a chance of getting to the woman in time. And every minute it took him to find her was one less minute in her chance of survival.

TBC


	2. The Gold Calls

Fic: Daring Rescue, Daring Escape Ch. 2: The Gold Calls

By Honorat Selonnet

Rating: K+

Disclaimer: All the gold will be returned and the blood repaid. I promise.

Summary: No Jack but nice spooky pirate gold. Another movie novelization—Jack's first rescue of Elizabeth. So far no oars over the head. You're all very kind.

The Gold Calls.

The gold is incorruptible. Never will it rust. Never does it decay. Under the ashes and the crumbling stones of long-dead nations it yet glitters. Among the bones of decaying princes it still glows. Down in the crushing depths of the sea, in the rotting bellies of unlucky ships, the gold waits, gleaming patiently. Unlike the furious, corruptible mortals who scurry frantically about the surface of the earth, the gold of earth's molten heart is patient.

For gold—for the sake of that immortal shine—the rivers of the earth have run red with blood. Kingdoms have fallen. The seas have hissed under rains of fire. Kin have slain their own kin. Treachery, betrayal, sacrifice, power, cruelty and vengeance march in its train. And still the gold waits—hammered or molded, drawn into fine wires, in heavy ingots or the frailest leaf—all eternal.

To forge a curse eternally binding, the only possible element is gold. Only gold can hold the memory of past atrocities long enough. Only gold can be counted on to deliver retribution down uncounted centuries. The gold remembers. The gold calls.

As the waters of Port Royal's bay close over the body of the unconscious girl, the gold medallion wakes. For years it has been locked in a dusty drawer, whispering. But now it is free again, and the ocean shudders with the thunder of its call. The great currents of the air shift and fog rises to blot out the sun.

Two puny mortals stare at each other in wild surmise, feeling the change in the wind, seeing the ensign of their ship reverse the course of its flight.

"What was that?" whispers Murtogg, clapping his hand to his hat.

"I don't know," Mulroy shrugs nervously. The gold is always a mystery.

Trees lash. The hanging bodies of the unconsecrated dead rattle and sway. The soldiers running towards the dock hasten their steps in unexplained fear.

"Make way!" they cry.

And somewhere, far out in the trackless sea, something dark hears that call and comes about with the new wind and begins its stalk inexorably towards the gold.

TBC


	3. To Contend with the Sea

Fic: Daring Rescue, Daring Escape Ch. 3: To Contend with the Sea

By Honorat Selonnet

Rating: K+

Disclaimer: Borrowed without permission, but with every intention of giving them back.

Summary: More Jack the reluctant hero. Yeah! Another movie novelization—Jack's first rescue of Elizabeth.

To Contend with the Sea

Unaware of the forces moving in these waters, Jack Sparrow searched for any sign of the woman he was trying to rescue.

There! There she was. Jack could see her in the dim light on the sea floor. He altered course slightly and swam down beside her. She was naught but a girl, he realized, slender and ominously still. Good. He would have the best chance of hauling her to the surface if she was light weight and not fighting him. Hmmm. Not so good. He might already be too late. It was a long way back to air, and she had already been under water too long. Well, he shrugged mentally, he certainly had to try. Maneuvering to her side, Jack scooped the girl up in his arms. Kicking off the sandy bottom, he headed for the surface as swiftly as possible.

Too soon, it became clear that this task was not going to be as easy as it had at first seemed. He had never had to struggle so hard to swim. It was as if he were hauling an anchor up without benefit of a windlass. His lungs burned for air, but the light was still too far away. Fish darted around him, and he wished he had gills. He began to think he wasn't going to make it.

Just let the girl go, the voice in his head told him. What is she to you? You aren't telling me you're going to die trying to save some silly wench who doesn't know enough not to tip over a wall and fall off a cliff? No! He told the voice. He was Captain Jack Sparrow, and he would not lose this battle. He would not let the girl go.

But he was slowing down, the powerful strokes of his legs growing erratic and weaker. The surface and its precious air were still too far away. Let her go, tempted the voice. She's probably already drowned. You're wasting this effort on a corpse.

Jack's leg muscles were on fire. His arms were on fire. His lungs were on fire. Suddenly rage flashed through him.

With each painful kick, he vowed: He. . . Would Not. . . Let. . . The Sea. . . Win. . . Today!

The sea would get him on his own terms or not at all. And he was not ready to go today. And he would not let the girl go. With his last ounce of reserve strength, he fought through the remaining yards of water.

Finally, Jack's head broke the surface, and he was gasping for breath—great agonized gasps of air that filled his aching lungs. He had won. Jubilation filled him. But suddenly he was sinking again. He didn't have enough strength left to hold the two of them out of the water. No! He had been so close. So close! The weight of the girl in her heavy dress bore him downwards again like dashed hope. The weight of her dress. The dress.

He was an idiot. Jack ceased to fight for the surface. Silently the man and the girl drifted down through the scintillating watery light towards the darkness of the sea floor. With fumbling hands, Jack ripped at the fasteners of the elegant, deadly garment.

Sorry love. I know you and I haven't been introduced yet, but you'll just be having to do a little strip here.

Good thing he had plenty of practice removing ladies' clothing. At last he had the wretched thing off the girl. It slowly sank below them, as Jack kicked for the light. This time, when he surfaced, he was able to keep the girl's head above water and strike out for the dock.

As Jack clambered up on the supporting beams of the dock gripping the limp and seemingly lifeless body of the girl over his shoulder, Murtogg and Mulroy pounded up. Jack was relieved to see them. He hadn't been sure he had any strength left to lift the girl onto the planks. But between the two of them, they would manage to pull her off of him and drag her out on the dock.

"I got her!" one of them cried. And Jack felt the weight roll off his shoulders. For a moment he just clung there on the dockside, panting.

Mulroy bent over the still form and brushed damp strands of hair away from the girl's lips—colourless lips, with a faint blue tinge. She looked like a pale, waxen doll. Jack felt an unexpected twinge at the sight. Was she still alive? The marine's panicked voice jolted him into action.

"Not breathing!" Mulroy cried.

"Move!" Jack shouted, scrambling onto the dock and shoving in between the two officers. With experienced ease, he palmed Murtogg's knife. Kneeling beside the girl, he slashed through the front lacings of her corset. Why in the bloody blazes women wore these torture devices was beyond him. It was no wonder she couldn't breathe. Ripping the contraption out from under her, he tipped the girl onto her side and was rewarded when she began to choke out great gouts of seawater. She was still alive! He was Captain Jack Sparrow, and the sea had not won this round.

He tossed the ruined corset in Murtogg's direction. The embarrassed man caught it gingerly.

Mulroy was all admiration. "I never would have thought of that!" he exclaimed.

TBC


	4. Waking Up Not Dead

Fic: Daring Rescue, Daring Escape Ch. 4: Waking Up Not Dead

By Honorat Selonnet

Rating: K

Disclaimer: C'mon mousie! It's just you and me now. C'mere you filthy rich, lucky owners of POTC. No. No. No. I didn't mean it!

Summary: On the docks—three points of view. Elizabeth wakes up not dead. Jack has a pirate moment. And I try to imagine what James can have been going through to make him behave the way he does in that scene. Another movie novelization—Jack's first rescue of Elizabeth.

* * *

Elizabeth returned to consciousness with a jolt of terror. She couldn't breathe. She couldn't see. Her involuntary gasp for air sent her into a paroxysm of choking as she coughed up mouthfuls of foul-tasting seawater. As her body convulsed in an effort to rid itself of the deadly liquid, she grew aware that strong hands were supporting her. Someone was here with her in the dark. Relief washed over her. She was beginning to draw air into her tortured lungs. Faint faraway voices floated above her. Unfamiliar voices.

"I never would have thought of that!"

Thought of what? Her eyes fluttered open, the darkness clearing gradually from her sight. The speaker leaned towards her, his round, wide-eyed face looking like he'd had a fright. He seemed slightly familiar.

She couldn't tell who he was talking to, but a rough voice with an odd accent commented, "Clearly you've never been to Singapore."

Singapore? What had happened to her? Where was she? Elizabeth twisted and the hands holding her gently lowered her to her back. Her eyes widened. A strange man was bending over her—strange in every sense of the word. She had never seen him before in her life, and she had never seen anyone who looked remotely like him. Dark eyes, outlined oddly in some black substance, met hers. Water ran down his face, dripping off his nose and off two funny little beaded braids in his beard. His long knotted black hair, tied with a red scarf and filled with odd dangling objects, was drenched, and his shabby garments were soaked. He looked half drowned. Elizabeth was suddenly aware that she was also completely sopping wet.

Then it all rushed back over her—the proposal, not being able to breathe, darkness, the brief panicked return to consciousness as her shocked body struck water, and then darkness again. Shaken, she realized she had nearly died. And this stranger must be the man who had saved her life.

* * *

Jack looked down at the girl he had fished out of the sea. Her breathing was still laboured, but the colour was flushing back into her pale cheeks, the rose returning to her lips. She was a charming catch if he did say so himself. The bright brown eyes that stared up at him in bewilderment were quite the loveliest he had seen in some time. Too bad a lass of her sort wouldn't be rewarding a rescuer of his sort with a kiss or two. He remembered, with the facility of a connoisseur, the rich, heavy brocade of the gown that had tried to drag them both to the ocean floor. This was a lady of quality, alas.

And wasn't that a bit of gold hiding in her wet hair? The pirate in him was already lifting the trinket when his attention was riveted by a familiar pattern. Shock coursed through him. Impossible! But there it was—attached to a thin gold chain around the neck of an innocent, gently-born girl. The same stylized central skull. The obscure symbols marching around the edge. He could never mistake that design. Holding the medallion in a grimy hand, he frowned, meeting the girl's startled gaze.

"Now where did you get that?" he breathed.

The sight of that medallion must have addled his brains because he was unprepared for the singing of drawn steel and the glittering tip of the sword that appeared under his nose.

"On your feet!" snapped a voice of command.

* * *

James Norrington had known he would be too late. His only chance to save the girl he loved had been that moment when he had been shedding his coat on the battlements of Fort Charles—the moment before Andrew had reminded him that his life was not his own to spend. It had not been fear of the rocks that had turned him back. He had faced down certain death before in his life. Would indeed be more than willing to give his life for Elizabeth's. But his life had belonged body and blood to the British Empire since he had first chosen the path of naval service. Duty forbade him to waste that life for the sake of his own personal happiness.

He had thought that some measure of that happiness might be possible for him. That he might marry the woman he loved and still serve his country and his men as they demanded. But Fate had had other plans for him. Had ripped that possibility from him at the very moment he might have achieved it.

For nearly twenty years, he had known nothing but the discipline of the service. And so he fell back on that discipline again as he led his men in the race to the closest dock to where Elizabeth had disappeared from his life. And thus it was that only the Commodore arrived on the dock by the Interceptor. The man himself, James Norrington, had crept bruised and bleeding back into the shell in which Duty had imprisoned him for so long. Only the Commodore remained to see a ragged ruffian bending over the scantily clad body of his beloved, whom he had given up for dead, and holding the bit of jewelry she wore around her neck.

The man was obviously a thief at best, possibly even a pirate. Commodore Norrington drew his sword. This time, he could protect Elizabeth. His duty was plain.

TBC


	5. He Should Have Let Her Drown

Daring Rescue, Daring Escape Ch. 5: He Should Have Let Her Drown

By Honorat Selonnet

Rating: K

Disclaimer: Excuse me while I go set my mousetrap.

Summary: Jack's POV—insert laugh track. Jack and Norrington face off. What's not to love? Another movie novelization—Jack's first rescue of Elizabeth.

* * *

He Should Have Let Her Drown

by Honorat Selonnet

Jack raised his head slowly and met the fierce gaze of a gold-braided, feather-hatted, white-periwigged naval officer. The ruffles and gilt were belied by the ice-cold steel of the man's eyes and his firm, skilled grip on the hilt of his sword.

The little pirate with the abacus in Jack's head was enthusing, That is a magnificent sword! and wondering about the feasibility of somehow accidentally acquiring it on his way out. But the majority of his brain was chanting a familiar litany: Oh damndamndamndamndamn! For this, unless he missed his guess, was the newly minted Commodore Norrington, not-so-fondly known among the Brethren as the Scourge of Piracy in the Caribbean. The commodore was backed up by a passel of unfriendly looking navy toffs and entirely too many bayonets at the ends of entirely too many redcoats.

Blast that damnable streak of honour that led him to rescue fair maidens when he should have been commandeering a ship and hightailing it out of Port Royal. Clearly, he must have lost his mind. He should have let her drown. In the ensuing uproar, he could probably have walked off with any ship he pleased.

Carefully, so as not to startle the commodore into doing anything rash, Jack let the medallion drop and eased to his feet, hands half raised and limply non-threatening. The fine steel point followed him up, not budging from his throat. Why did these kinds of things always happen to him?

The staccato tap of a gentleman's heels drummed down the boards of the dock. "Elizabeth!" cried a distraught voice.

Jack spared a small amount of attention to evaluate this new player in the deadly game he had suddenly found himself playing. The man rushing up past Norrington was even more elaborately dressed, with an absolutely amazing long curly gray wig. Apparently, he was someone overly important. He dragged off his blue and gold coat and swooped down on the girl still lying on the dock.

"Are you alright?" Curly-wig's voice shook as he pulled the girl to her feet and began wrapping her in his coat.

That would be the lass's father most likely. Whether he was worried more about her catching a chill or being seen in her undergarments was up for grabs. But he was obviously shaken from a severe fright—a fact which made him dangerous. He had, however, claimed some of the overdose of military attention flooding the dock. Jack dared to wipe some of the water from his face during this distraction.

"Yes, I'm fine." The girl, Elizabeth, reassured her upset parent. Then she returned to staring at Jack.

Like what you see, love? He raised an eyebrow at her. Now would be a very good time to call off these Navy dogs.

Papa was looking a little belligerent, too—although his focus was on the bemused Mr. Murtogg who was still gripping the ripped corset Jack had tossed to him. The flustered man opened his mouth, shut it and hurriedly dropped the corset. Desperate to absolve himself of any responsibility for insulting the man's daughter, the marine pointed to Jack, opening and closing his mouth again rather like a clown fish.

Thanks a lot, mate. Jack eyed him disgustedly. I thought we were getting to be friends.

Transferring his unwelcome attention to Jack, the lass's father took in the pirate's disreputable appearance with glowering disapproval.

Jack stared back at him. Yes, I did remove that corset from your precious daughter. She wasn't breathing, mate. What sort of a parent lets his daughter fall off a cliff anyway?

"Shoot him!" the man ordered in a shrill, angry voice.

Wait just a bloody minute! Jack started. Wasn't that just a bit extreme? He had, after all, just fished the man's daughter out of Davy Jones' locker. He didn't expect the man would sympathize with just how completely that little unnecessary act of charity had messed up Jack's plans, but a bit of gratitude would not be amiss here. His body tensed with the urge to flee. He bloody hated people who shot first and asked questions later. No scope for creative negotiation at all. He really should have let the girl drown.

"Father!" Elizabeth snapped impatiently, glaring at her parent.

Her father stared at her in confusion. "What?" he asked.

The girl turned to Norrington. "Commodore," she spoke earnestly. Shooting a quick look at Jack, she turned back to his captors. "Do you really intend to kill my rescuer?"

Norrington, whose eyes had never strayed from Jack, now glanced over at Elizabeth. He had the grace to drop his gaze as if he was perhaps a little ashamed of the conclusions he'd jumped to. A slight nod of his head and the bayonets fell away from Jack.

Elizabeth was looking back at Jack with those large brown eyes. Grateful.

Alright, perhaps he was glad he hadn't let the girl drown. Jack pressed his palms together and nodded a small bow to Elizabeth. "Thank you," he mouthed the words with the barest of smiles.

TBC


	6. A Real Live Pirate

Fic: Daring Rescue, Daring Escape Ch. 6: A Real Live Pirate

By Honorat Selonnet

Rating: K

Disclaimer: Thank you Disney for the use of these wonderful characters. I'd have had a hard time of it by myself.

Summary: Elizabeth's POV—in which the governor's daughter discovers who her rescuer really is and everyone else behaves badly. Another movie novelization—Jack's first rescue of Elizabeth. I've discovered that Jane Austen's trick works. If you want to keep your audience in the dark about the thoughts and motives of one character, switch to another character's point of view. It's amazing how changing the POV focus of a story changes the way it's told. Expect a "romantic" side to this section courtesy of Elizabeth's deplorable taste in literature.

* * *

A Real Live Pirate

As Commodore Norrington sharply sheathed his sword, Elizabeth sighed with relief. She would have felt awful if this man had been mistreated simply for doing his best to save her. He looked terribly out of place amidst all the spit and polish and firepower of the increasing number of military men surrounding him, and she felt a little sorry for him.

The commodore seemed to be making an attempt to be civil to the man, although she could tell from his sour expression that it went against his fastidious grain. James was not a man to trust riffraff. Nevertheless, he held out his hand, admitting, "I believe thanks are in order."

Her rescuer looked even more reluctant than the commodore. His partly raised hands shrank back at first, and he stared at Norrington's proffered hand as a man might look at a poisonous snake he has been asked to pick up by the tail. Hesitantly he extended his right hand, the palm of which was hidden by a strange leather covering.

Norrington seized the man's hand in a grip like a trap closing. The stranger's eyes flew to the commodore's face, betrayal written in them. Elizabeth wondered why. Her question was answered when the commodore yanked the hand forward and, with his free hand, shoved the grimy sleeve back.

Elizabeth caught her breath. There, above a ragged black wrist guard, a shiny white scar stood out against darkly tanned skin. It was a scar such as she had never seen before, but she knew very well what that pale letter "P" stood for. She had read the stories . . .

Her rescuer glanced swiftly and calculatingly between his exposed arm and the commodore's uncompromising face. The stakes in this game had just gone way up.

In a condescending voice, Norrington asked, "Had a brush with the East India Trading Company, did we? Pirate." The commodore was looking extremely satisfied, as though the discovery of that brand had merely confirmed his suspicions and freed him to do what he had all along wanted to do to this man.

Apparently there were teeth in the commodore's grip, for the man—a pirate, a real live pirate—winced and tugged back futilely, his eyes on his captured hand.

Her father made an expression of disgust and sang out, "Hang him!"

The pirate's head jerked in shock as he glanced up at the governor. His eyes brushed past Elizabeth, and she shivered at the look in them. She wanted to help him, but what could she do? The commodore had always made perfectly clear what his intentions were towards any pirate he came across.

"Keep your guns on him, men," Commodore Norrington ordered, glancing over his shoulder. "Gillette, fetch some irons."

The air filled with the sounds of rifles being cocked and once again Elizabeth's rescuer was the center of a ring of bayonets. Lieutenant Gillette jogged off to follow his orders.

Elizabeth admired how unconcerned the pirate managed to look with violent death only a breath away. Really, she had no patience with the military mind. Was everyone forgetting that she would have died if it hadn't been for him?

Apparently so. Norrington pushed the pirate's sleeve back further on his wiry arm, revealing the faded lines of a conspicuous tattoo—a sun sinking into rolling waves, and over the waters a bird flying towards the horizon. Only one pirate Elizabeth had heard of had that tattoo.

Jack Sparrow. Elizabeth had read all the stories she could find about him. And this man standing on the Port Royal dock, the man who had saved her from drowning, this man was the famous pirate captain. He was not what she had expected. For one thing he was a much smaller man than she had imagined. His looks were odd, his movements odder. But his eyes were exactly what she had thought they would be like—wary and intelligent and dangerous. Just now he was looking angrily at the man who had seized him.

Commodore Norrington was likewise familiar with the description of that tattoo. "Well, well," he sneered. "Jack Sparrow isn't it."

The infamous Jack Sparrow finally succeeded in ripping his hand from the commodore's grip. The small increase in his freedom appeared to relax him and he grew more mobile as he insisted, his hands moving with his words, "Captain Jack Sparrow, if you please, sir."

Glancing around in a parody of curiosity, Norrington turned back to the pirate and smirked, "Well, I don't see your ship—Captain."

Sparrow widened his eyes and nodded his head. "I'm in the market—as it were," he said. He matched the commodore's smirk, but without any genuine amusement. Elizabeth had never seen anyone with a more expressive face.

One of the marines who had been there when Elizabeth woke up piped up, "He said he came to commandeer one."

Captain Sparrow glared at the man as though he were a traitor.

"Told you he was telling the truth," added the other marine. He bent over and brought up a worn baldric and battered pistol. "These are his, sir." He held them out towards Commodore Norrington.

As the commodore lifted the pistol from the pitiful little stack of possessions, Elizabeth noticed the expression on Jack Sparrow's face—as if sacrilege were being committed. The pirate raised his hand futilely, reaching out as though to protect something very valuable to him.

Norrington tossed the pistol lightly to his other hand, and slapped it back down in the marine's hands commenting sarcastically, "No additional shot or powder."

Sparrow's hand clenched in a fist and shook as he seemed to resist snatching the pistol away.

The next object the commodore examined was an eight-sided box with a round raised lid, attached by a cord to the pirate's baldric. It turned out to be a compass, but as Norrington snidely remarked, it was "A compass that doesn't point north."

Again Elizabeth noted that tiny hand motion as Sparrow restrained himself from reaching for the strange mechanism.

When the commodore drew the sword part way out of its scabbard, the pirate looked down and swallowed. Really, thought Elizabeth, it was indecent of James to paw through a man's private effects as though they belonged to him. They seemed to mean so much more to Sparrow than they appeared.

The sword whispered its musical slice of steel as it was drawn, but Norrington smiled mockingly at his captive, sneering, "And I half expected it to be made of wood."

The soldiers holding their rifles aimed at the pirate laughed. Elizabeth glared at them.

Jack Sparrow returned the commodore a rather sickly smile, then dropped his eyes to the blade again as Norrington jammed it back in. The marine holding the objects winced as his hand was pinched between the hilt and the scabbard.

"You are, without doubt, the worst pirate I've ever heard of," the commodore insulted Sparrow.

That, thought Elizabeth indignantly, was not the truth. She had read the stories of Captain Jack Sparrow. In them, the man was some sort of fey genius, clever and canny and nigh uncatchable. If he was carrying those odd items with such care, she'd be willing to bet there was more to them than met the eye.

Sparrow himself seemed to brighten at that last comment. He held up both index fingers in the commodore's face.

"But you have heard of me," he exclaimed, gently triumphant. His eyes then narrowed in a pleased smirk and he tossed his head lightly.

It was a small enough victory, because Lieutenant Gillette had returned with a heavy set of iron shackles. The commodore seemed to lose a little of his temper at this point. Grabbing Sparrow by the arm, he yanked the slighter man along in a most uncomfortable looking way towards the lieutenant. His men parted to allow him through, still training their rifles on the pirate.

At the moment, Elizabeth was not feeling very much in charity with the man who had proposed to her. That Captain Jack Sparrow should die simply for an act of kindness to her was intolerable. The girl pushed out of her father's concerned embrace, shedding his coat, and ran after Norrington and Sparrow. Her father hurried along in her wake, holding out the coat. But Elizabeth could not care less for propriety and modesty.

"Commodore, I really must protest!" she exclaimed.

Norrington ignored her. "Carefully, lieutenant," he cautioned Gillette as the lieutenant began to lock the irons around Jack Sparrows outthrust wrists.

Planting herself between the scowling officer and his resigned-looking captive, Elizabeth insisted, "Pirate or not, this man saved my life!"

TBC


	7. A Sparrow Flies Free

Fic: Daring Rescue, Daring Escape Ch. 7: A Sparrow Flies Free

By Honorat Selonnet

Rating: K+

Disclaimer: The right course demanded an act of piracy. Apologies to Disney. I'll put 'em back when I'm done.

Summary: This is the chapter you will always remember as the one in which Jack Sparrow was almost caught. Another movie novelization—Jack's first rescue of Elizabeth. Expect POV chaos for the next six pages. Everyone wanted to talk in my head. Let me know if there are places where I need to make things clearer.

* * *

A Sparrow Flies Free

Jack submitted without a struggle to being shackled yet again in his speckled career. Really there was nothing else to do with the entire Fort Charles redcoat contingent aiming for his heart, or at least far more of them than he thought was strictly necessary.

He was experiencing the novel sensation of having a young lady defend him from a king's officer. The girl he had rescued did not fit into the ordinary categories of gentlewomen he was familiar with. Except for a very few on the hunt for a sexual misadventure, the wellbred ladies he came in contact with invariably treated him to displays of contempt and disdain combined with equal amounts of shrieking and fainting.

This girl defied definition. Although she was manifestly a perfect innocent, she was not angry with him for stripping her down to her foundation garments. In fact she seemed sublimely indifferent to the fact that she was parading about in a single layer of fabric for all those rough military men to gawp at. Nor had she seemed afraid of him although she couldn't have been manhandled by his like before in her life. He hadn't expected to meet a well-bred young lady with a sense of logic.

The good commodore, however, was not impressed with her argument.

His eyes shifting watchfully between his captive and the girl, the man snapped, "One good deed is not enough to redeem a man of a lifetime of wickedness."

The girl's back was stiff with frustration, Jack noted. He eyed the commodore speculatively. Now mate that's no way to address a beautiful woman even if you are under stress.

Furthermore, Jack felt compelled to point out the flaw in the commodore's reasoning. "Though it seems enough to condemn him," he retorted.

Besides, it hadn't been a complete lifetime of wickedness. Most of a lifetime, granted. But he sometimes went practically days without doing anything extremely wicked. Every once in a while he even committed a good deed or two, though he tried never to admit it. And in this instance he was completely blameless. Hadn't had the least opportunity to get into any wickedness at all, more's the pity. And that one good deed was the biggest pity of all.

Norrington wasn't impressed with his logic either. "Indeed," the man responded coldly.

During this exchange, although he did not look at his arms, Jack could feel the weight of the chains being added. At least the lieutenant was efficient and dispassionate about his job. He'd experienced far worse. Jack knew to a hair's breadth the familiar feel of cold iron on his wrists. Lady Fortune was an ice-hearted strumpet where Captain Jack was concerned. Nevertheless, he had always had a way with the ladies. They might slap his face until his ears rang, but they warmed up in his arms eventually.

The heavy length of chain that curtailed the movements of his arms had certain possibilities, he mused. The key was to keep that punctilious commodore from visualizing any of those possibilities. To that effect he deliberately kept his posture resigned, unthreatening, as beaten as possible. But within that slumped form, every nerve shivered, every muscle strained with tension. Behind lazy eyes, his mind raced inventing and rejecting plots. Let them believe they had captured Captain Jack Sparrow.

Jack prepared to put Fortune in her place.

It all happened so fast, Elizabeth wasn't sure what had happened. One moment she had been defending her sodden rescuer from Commodore Norrington's over-zealous sense of duty. The next, the pirate's rough voice, like the grate of sea on cobbles, exclaimed in triumph, "Finally!" and she was seized in an iron grip with the bite of heavy chain across her throat. She gave a small cry of shock. Immediately, she was aware of the dangerous man behind her, the heat of his body, his disordered hair scratching against her cheek.

Her first emotion was a wild sense of betrayal. This man was supposed to be her rescuer. She had just been championing him. He was supposed to be a gentleman according to the stories. How dared he threaten her like this?

The sound of a dozen rifles being cocked split the silence that followed. Norrington made an abortive start towards Elizabeth, the boots of his men beating a rumbling scuffle on the stone pier behind him. But they slid to a halt in frustration as her father cried anxiously, "No! No! Don't shoot!"

The pirate smiled madly at the man. Now old Curly-wig was piping a new tune. In a voice insultingly familiar, Jack breathed, "I knew you'd warm up to me."

Transferring his attention to the harried naval officer, he demanded coldly, "Commodore Norrington, my effects, please." His voice had that quality that carried orders to the topgallants in a gale wind. Then, pointing, he added quite conversationally, "and my hat."

When this produced no effect, he hitched the chain a little tighter around the girl's neck. She gave a strangled gasp.

Captain Jack Sparrow was now officially enjoying himself. Certainly he was still cornered by British troops—regular forest of bayonets there—but the situation had its bright spots. For one thing, he again had his arms full of this most astonishingly lovely girl. Of course, at the moment, she looked readier to bite him than to kiss him. Her entire body was quivering in outrage, but he wasn't complaining. He could feel the warmth of her skin through the thin wet shift and took a moment to enjoy the view.

As an added bonus, the poker-stiff commodore was obviously sweet on the lass, and any further annoyance Jack could supply that pompous British ninnyhammer was rum sauce on the pudding. From the look on said commodore's face, annoyance was a pale and colourless thing compared to the red rage he was in. Good. Jack glared menacingly at the roiling ball of furious marines his actions had halted and tightened the chain on his fair captive's neck. He might have dragged that chain across the commodore's own throat the way the man jerked convulsively.

"Commodore!" the pirate snapped in a voice of command and warning.

Grudgingly, Norrington turned to Mulroy who passed over the hat and baldric. He then held them out to Elizabeth, his jaw clenched. She met his eyes with mute appeal, and he cursed himself for having failed her a second time that day.

As Jack waited for this transaction to be complete, he bent close to his captive's ear and addressed her in a sultry voice, "Elizabeth. It is Elizabeth isn't it?"

Elizabeth, as Jack had already figured out, was not the type of female to scream and faint—well now that she was free of that dratted corset. Instead she got angry. "It's Miss Swann," she hissed at the pirate.

Ah ha! He'd always known he had good taste. It appeared he had kidnapped the daughter of the Governor of Jamaica. Excellent! His hands otherwise most fully occupied, Jack nudged his hostage in the direction of the proffered goods.

"Miss Swann," Jack emended agreeably, "if you'd be so kind." He nodded at the hat and belt indicating that she was to take them from Norrington.

Elizabeth shuddered with disgust when she realized that the pirate expected her not only to touch his filthy "effects," but also to place them on his equally filthy body. She couldn't believe she'd ever felt the least bit of sympathy for the man.

When she did not move, he snarled, "Come, come, dear. We don't have all day."

As James Norrington gently set the requested articles in Elizabeth's arms, his eyes held hers in concern. He hated himself for being unable to prevent this from happening to her.

The minute Sparrow's pistol was within his reach, he snatched it up and brought it to Elizabeth's temple. She shrank from the sinister touch of the muzzle and heard her father's inarticulate cry. She would not be afraid. But she could see no way out of doing as the pirate requested, so she let him shift her around until she was looking up into his thin dark face, weirdly framed by his knotted, beaded hair. His eyes were mad and dangerous, but his voice remained silky and intimate.

She had never been so close to a man's body before. The pirate's grimy rope-calloused hand still lay across her shoulder, the chain heavy on her back. His other hand gripped the butt of the pistol that kissed her cheek so coldly, but his smile burned like fire and she felt her face heat. She had never had a man look at her so. Not shy Will's bashful adoration. Not Commodore Norrington's ardent approval. Now she saw in this man's lazily mocking eyes and his gold-glittering grin the fire unbanked. Not a tincture of chivalry or civilization. Not a taint of shame or fear. Pure, unabashed lust. He found her beautiful and a pirate takes his pleasure where he can get it. His husky rum-flavoured voice was a caress, like warm velvet against her ear, as if he were a lover rather than her captor, suggestive of a hundred forbidden things. "Now if you'd be _very_ kind."

Elizabeth glared into her captor's dark eyes, refusing to be frightened, furious at him for humiliating her so. His eyes laughed back, admiring her in her fury, pleased that she was not afraid. While the governor watched in consternation, she jammed the pirate's disreputable tricorn over his head, her whole face eloquent of outrage. Jack smiled seductively at her.

The sight of the woman he loved in the arms of that bastard pirate who was so obviously enjoying every moment of her touch nearly made Commodore Norrington ill. Before God, he promised Jack Sparrow would pay for this day's work.

Jack grinned triumphantly at the man over Elizabeth's shoulder until the commodore averted his head in disgust.

The pirate smelled, reeked really, of tar and sweat and rum and the salt tang of the sea. Elizabeth twisted up her nose as she roughly and unwillingly reached around the pirate's back to clasp the other end of his baldric, an action that to her embarrassment brought her into even closer contact with the man. In her rage, she was perhaps rougher than was wise, but he merely cautioned her with an edge to his voice, "Easy on the goods, darling."

Just for that she gave an extra hard yank to the belt. Take that bloody pirate!

What a little spitfire, Jack thought admiringly. Quite worth the unexpected dunking, perhaps even the chase he would soon be leading. Worthy even to dare wear cursed pirate gold about her slim ivory neck. Oh, but she hated him now.

Glaring up at him, she snarled at him, "You're despicable."

Accurate, if not very nice. Jack tilted his head and contemplated his lovely adversary, his arms still resting on her slim shoulders. "Sticks and stones, love," he told her. "I saved your life, you save mine, we're square."

As fine as this little interval had been, it was time he was going. While the entire garrison of Fort Charles had been focused on his hostage, Jack had been rapidly plotting an escape route. Unfortunately, he was going to have to disappear around a corner he hadn't seen around. But, unless he missed his guess, he would find scope for a magnificent departure on the other side of said corner. Forcing Elizabeth to turn her back to him again and keeping the pistol trained on her head, he addressed his audience in ringing tones, "Gentlemen!" He then bent his head towards Elizabeth and murmured in her ear, "M'lady."

Gradually he began backing up, pulling Elizabeth with him. Elizabeth felt the strain in her neck as Sparrow's chained hand pressed her head back. Her breath sounded ragged and loud. She wondered frantically what the pirate was going to do with her. Perhaps she was a little afraid after all. Commodore Norrington, her father, and the entire contingent of marines inched towards the two of them cautiously.

Head raised and eyes wild, the pirate delivered his parting lines in time to his deliberate steps backward: "You will always remember this as the day that you almost caught . . ." Suddenly he threw his chains up over Elizabeth's head. "Captain Jack Sparrow!"

He shoved Elizabeth into the path of pursuit, which happened to be straight into the commodore's arms, and dashed around the corner of the stone wall beside the dock. Really, Commodore Norrington ought to be grateful to him. He'd bet that stiff and proper gentleman had never had his arms around his girl before. And now Jack had even saved him most of the trouble of undressing her.

Ah ha! Just as he'd suspected. The mechanism controlling the great crane that was busy loading new cannon on the _Interceptor _was right there. While the tangle of military personnel and one wet girl sorted itself out, he grabbed ahold of the rope and kicked the latch free. The cannon, high in the air and still out of position, was suddenly free of its counteracting force. As it plummeted towards the dock, Jack was launched into the air towards the high arm of the crane.

A cluster of marines made a frantic grab for his legs to no avail. Their pursuit was violently interrupted when the great gun smashed into the dock directly in their path. Two unlucky redcoats didn't manage to stop in time and crashed into the gaping hole in the planks. By then it was too late. Norrington, still holding Elizabeth, stood gaping, along with the governor and the rest of his men, as the whizzing rope slammed the pirate into the arm of the crane, and then flung him out in a great spinning arc as the crane began to turn.

At last, the sparrow flew free.

End


End file.
